Featured Posts, Hustle


Picture this, you are in your early or mid-twenties. You graduated not so long ago. Probably, you are juggling between jobs or you have a job. Your employer says you’re a phenomenal team player yet, you are paid peanuts. HR says that they will look into your contract, actually that has been the song for the longest time. Or maybe HR claims that the company is going through some rough patch financially. You loathe your pay slip and everything about it, the font, the design layout, the deductions, the frequency in which it is sent to your mail, the number of zeros on the digits, because it is nothing close to what you had hoped for your first salary. You can’t stand the depressing math that has become the norm after every pay day. “How did I get here? From ruling campus to languishing in the corporate gutter?” You wonder.

In your phone book, there is a person(s) offering you quick cash but the price to pay is too high. You know their offers are wrong cuts so you do everything to prevent your overactive mind from entertaining such ideas. You also have pals who have no jobs. They have been tarmacking since graduation. “You are one lucky bastard!” They always tell you. Jobs are hard to come by nowadays. If the stats on youth unemployment in Kenya are anything to go by, then you are really one lucky chap. Some companies keep interns without paying them for months. But you don’t blame them, times are tough, and everyone is trying to save a buck. Other employers pay in the ‘exposure’ currency. You have dealt with people who think that millennial graduates are too picky when it comes to job hunting and that narrative pisses you off because it is so far from the truth. But oh well, opinions are like butt cracks, everyone has one. Then there is entrepreneurship lakini pesa ongee! How will you start a business bila dough? How? You also have relaz who are constant asking you for money and when you tell them you are broke, they think that you are stingy, “Yaani ako na job na kila saa hananga dough” they will always say. If they only knew the truth.

Like every other person your age, you are in a relationship….. A cordless one. Society expects you to hunt for a mate in this age and all that kind of bullshit. You are just being compliant. You don’t want to end up alone when older? Do you? With a cat or a dog as your immediate family while others procreate and enjoy marital bliss? Or maybe, you are in a relationship….. a bland relationship. One that tastes like boiled peach marinated in charcoal dust then served with unripe avocados but you don’t want to be alone. It brings some form of convenience, like you don’t have persevere the cold alone. You have not introduced your ‘significant other’ to your family because uuummmh…….. Actually you have no reason. Your worried parents have you at the top of their agenda in their unending prayers to the Almighty. They have had a battalion of priests armed with gallons and gallons of holy water to pray for you and they are slowly giving up. You also hate the fact that despite having a job, you can’t get your mother a simple necklace (because you can’t afford it damn it!) to tell her sorry for not giving her hope of seeing her grandchildren anytime soon. You can’t afford to get kids in this economy. You are the ruler of a kingdom called, ‘Brokedom’ and from the looks of it, you are not about to quit anytime soon.

You sarcastically thank life for being cooperative in making your stay on earth comfortable. On good days, together with your fellow broke ass friends, you visit the local for a throat irrigation session with cheap liquor, OK slightly expensive liquor than the cheap poison you used to down in campus. Being broke is such a poor excuse I tell you! You can’t get shit done without money! You and your squad are so broke, that even beggars in the streets look at you with disdain. They don’t want to be associated with you. Your breed of broke is on another level and they can’t deal. You make fun of your jobs and how you hate waking up every morning to go work for that organization that is going through a ‘rough patch’ hehehe! It’s such a painful reality, that it has become funny. The only thing you can brag about is the sleek footsubishi which you cruise in to or from or to and from work. All these for working so hard through 8-4-4? Such baloney! I hear that is crazy part of a typical Kenyan in their mid twenties is called the, ‘Quarter Life Crisis’ such a cool name don’t you think?

This week I will share the story of a young man by name the Edwin Kabera. Remember when I asked people to share their stories on moving out? Well, Edwin sent me an email with his story. It took me a number of months to spot his email in my inbox (sorry Edwin, I hate reading emails. I strongly believe that in heaven, there will be no emails. Can I get an Amen? Plus it was not me who failed to see the email, it was my eyes). Mr. Kabera, is an I.T guru (I.T guys are always gurus) representing Ol Kalou. He also made it clear that he digs curvier women so kama wewe ni 1GB kama mimi usikuwe na hopes hehehe! Mjamaa amegeuza blog yangu space ya kuhunt dem fine ghels lakini haidhuru. Lastly, he firmly believes that chapos are a constant reminder of God’s love to Kenyans. Fam, here is the Edwin’s ‘Moving Out’ tale.


Agie Lemmi tell you, I didn’t move out, I found myself out. In our school, we used to go for attachment after 4th year. So I had been partying all Dec celebrating the end of campo, all while giving zero fucks about my attacho.
Jan came, everybody went back to their jobs and I was all alone with ma’ at home. I had no plans at all for my life.

What do you do after being a student for 16 years then suddenly you’re not? When you realise that you are no longer your mama’s baby? That you have to man up and get a job? Huh?
I started kulima our shamba while sending applications for attacho. Keep in mind that home ni Ol Kalou and ile kampuni iko around ni yenye huchukua maziwa asubuhi. Nairobi was so far away.

No replies became my life.. Desperation kidogo started kicking in. So this one Friday, I got a call from a company that they’ve received my application for attachment and I should get my ass to their offices on Monday to start attacho or they would give away the opportunity. Then they hanged up. That shit nearly made me cry. It also made me more desperate. Where the fuck was I to stay at? All relas gave me a blackout man! Alafu I’ve never been to Nairobi. I was there only once tulipitia tukienda coast and here, the gods of attacho had decided this was the best offer they could give me.
“There is no way this is slipping away!” I told my mum confidently as if I had found a solution.

“Utaenda kukaa wapi?” She asked.

“Kuna beshte yangu amesema atanihost for a month.” I lied.

She said sawa though a bit hesitantly.

I packed my official clad on Sato and all the crap I thought I needed and mum packed me 2 buckets of waru (potatoes) to take to my friend. Sunday was the travel date. I left at around 1:00PM to Nairobi. Dad gave me some cash for fare and food mum promised to be sending my friend and I food.

So mimi+bag+waru+5k landed in Nairobi with nowhere to go. Niliishi kwa lodging za 200 for 1 week. Imagine, asubuhi naoga, nachukua nguo+waru, nilikuwa naenda hadi job nazo and leave them at the watchman’s shelter. In the evening nilikuwa nazichukua naenda kutafta lodging.. njaa, kuchoka.. ngai….. I later gave the warus away. They were too much luggage.

Finally, another guy from my class came to Nairobi under the same predicaments and we rented a Kshs 1500 mabati shelter at ‘Mlango Kubwa’ don’t event get me get started on the life we lived there wueh!

That’s in summary of how I found myself out.

You can follow Edwin here

Also you can share your moving out story with me on email agnesopondo@gmail.com and I want to try a different kind of post as I announced on my Facebook page so you can keep the questions that you have about me coming. Inbox me on Facebook here or send an email.

I’m from a place where police are hungry, where good girls with little pride fuck for money.


Rapper, Music Producer

Keep grinding, keep hustling. Happy Easter.


3 thoughts on “HOW I FOUND MYSELF OUT”

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